


Hungry Ghosts

by irisbleufic



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-06
Updated: 2007-12-06
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Ghosts are useful because they inspire...more emotion than is common for the living Japanese. Ghosts make debts, obligations, and guilt very real and very obvious. That's because they don't hide behind polite gentility. In addition, ghosts frequently serve as reminders of duties that must be done.... More importantly, ghosts give the living...freedom to express intense emotions that are normally repressed in Japanese society."</i>
</p><p>—Angela Berquist</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hungry Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> For any of you familiar with the various incarnations of Buddhism, the title of this story is probably recognizable. While I'm not following a strict model for the Japanese varieties of this kind of spirit ([ _gaki_ and _jikininki_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hungry_ghosts#In_Japan), neither of which you would want to meet after dark or even down a Tokyo alley in daylight), they evoke an appropriate atmosphere. While I'm not convinced that Hiro is now twisted and/or insane, he is, if nothing else, _haunted_ —by the dead and the living alike. For all intents and purposes, this story picks up a split-second after the last moment we see him onscreen in 2x11. This is a first-time story, rather than one assuming a prior relationship—it seems to me that a logical emotional breaking-point has finally come.

"And that's good, isn't it?"

Ando's question hung on the still, stifling air for a very long time. Hiro stubbornly refused to turn and look at him—either that or the news story on the computer screen was, for the moment, more important than telling Ando exactly what had happened. Impatiently, Ando folded his arms across his chest and gave the screen his full attention. If Hiro needed temporary formality in order to deal with what he'd just done, well, Ando was willing to play along. When Hiro finally turned his head, Ando jumped, startled. Why, he wondered, had he taken Kimiko up on her offer of this broom-closet of an office? There wasn't enough room for a single person, let alone _two_ people and a whole throng of unbreathed secrets.

"I don't know," said Hiro, hesitantly meeting Ando's gaze. "Do _you_ trust me to have done the right thing?"

"I trust you to have done what was _necessary_ ," Ando replied, forcing himself to smile. "Hiro, how can I answer truthfully if I don't know the whole story? If you don't like talking about these exploits of yours, then I'm afraid you're going to have to take me along more often."

Ando swallowed, instantly regretting what he'd said. He'd used too light a tone, and too soon: Hiro's expression hardened again, ghastly in its suddenness. Hiro turned back to the computer screen and set his hands on the keyboard—how _fast_ his fingers moved, Ando thought—until all of the browser tabs were shut and Windows blinked out, leaving a black screen with a cursor prompt. Hiro turned and looked at him again, his eyebrows slightly raised, as if in a challenge.

"Can you imagine what it must be like?" he asked, his eyes flicking briefly back to the dark, empty screen.

"Imagine what... _what_ must be like?" asked Ando, feeling the floor crumble out from beneath him with each faltering forward step he took. Hiro was slipping away from him again, in _real_ -time, and that was worse than any unannounced vanishing. Hiro backed up until the chair hit the desk, at which point he stood, visibly shaken.

" _Nothing_!" he shouted, loudly enough to startle the sounds of work in the cubicles outside into silence. Almost chagrined, Hiro glanced from side to side, waiting for the hum of normalcy to return. It did, but only gradually. Instead of looking Ando in the eyes, he looked at the floor.

Ando's mind flooded with pure, cold panic. "Hiro, _please_ —"

"I have told you," Hiro said, softly, "everything you need to know." With that, he pushed past Ando—the first voluntary physical contact he'd made in _weeks_ —and made his way to the door.

"You should go home," said Ando, resisting the urge to turn and watch him go. He hoped that to concede defeat was, for the moment, the right course of action. "I'll tell your sister you're unwell."

"Tell her whatever you want," Hiro said, his voice half muffled by the closing of the door. "I'm going back to work, and so should you." The last of his words seemed so distant Ando had to strain to make them out. The door clicked shut with uncomfortable curtness.

"Stay with me, at least," Ando whispered, but only as a secret spoken finally to himself.

 

 

* * *

 

Blankness. Darkness. _Void_.

No English word, and no Japanese word, either, was enough to get it across. He'd hoped the blank computer screen would at least make Ando _think_ , but Ando could always be relied upon to be thinking of something _other_ than what one _wanted_ him to be thinking about. Hiro put his chin in his hands, struggling to keep his eyes open. He'd never been so tired in his life, and he'd never wanted sleep _less_ than he did now. As long as his eyes stayed open, he'd be all right. He had to be. As co-director of Yamagato Industries—for which he would never, _ever_ forgive Kimiko, this blatant _letting_ him be useless in exchange for a ridiculous sum of money—a breakdown was the last thing he needed.

 _What_ had Ando been thinking about, that he dared insult Hiro so?

Taking Ando along was no longer an option. It hadn't been an option for a very long time, and he'd been foolish to do it even the few times he had. Wasn't Hiro's curse obvious, the result of some ancient retribution beyond his control? He'd meddled where he'd had no business meddling—with his _ancestors_ , of all people, and their sacred tales—and now all whom he loved in the world, or would ever love, were doomed either to death or to a fate far worse. Obligation had made him executor; it wasn't difficult to understand how mythology was supposed to work. Perhaps English vocabulary had the upper hand in this matter after all.

Angel of death. Reaper. _Maker of ghosts_.

Much though it pained him, Hiro knew that Ando should never again know his touch.

 

 

* * *

 

Ando caught sight of Hiro on the way to the subway station, not long after they'd all swarmed gladly from the building and into the street. He'd tried to find Hiro at lunchtime, but he'd chosen to spend it locked in his office. Ando was ashamed he'd yanked on the doorknob even once. If he showed weakness, Hiro wasn't likely to let him get close. Why this game was so important, Ando couldn't guess. There'd been hardly any formality between them since the day they met, years ago, in school. Ando managed to slip into the same subway car as Hiro, hopefully unnoticed. This one wasn't going to get him home, but then, that hadn't been his objective for a very long time. New York, Tokyo, interminable desert highway: in the end, he knew they were all one.

How could they not be, when Hiro could bridge any and all of them in less time than it took to blink?

Hiro was standing, as he'd always preferred to do, toward the front of the car. Ando could see him when the car swayed or hit a bend, the unmistakeable hardened profile, the glasses. Strange, that Hiro could look so much like his father simply by putting on airs, especially given that he bore more resemblance to his mother. Ando had only ever seen photographs—sad, faded things tucked away in _manga_ -cluttered drawers in Hiro's kitchen and bedroom. Ando swallowed, guiltily looking away as Hiro's face turned into full view. He'd been spotted.

The remainder of the ride was spent in a half angry game of I'm-not-looking-at-you-except-for-when-I-am. Ando would've quit altogether, except for the fact that, now that Hiro knew he was there, _he_ couldn't seem to keep himself from glancing back. At one point, and only once, their eyes met. No longer hardened, but not at all warm, Hiro's seemed to say, _I'm very sorry for how this has turned out_.

Ando nodded politely in response, bracing himself as the announcement for Hiro's stop came over the speakers.

Unflinching, Hiro nodded back, closed his eyes, shivered, opened them again, and vanished.

As people poured out of the car and new ones filtered in, Ando rushed to the spot where Hiro had been standing. He'd probably just teleported home, tired of this nonsense, but Ando couldn't keep from shaking as he stumbled off the car just in the nick of time. He swayed a few steps backward on the platform as the train sped away, mentally grasping at straws over the profoundness of the situation. Hiro had sworn he'd never time-travel again, but did that mean he'd sworn off moving laterally through space in the present? Did he even _mean_ that he'd sworn off time-travel? Did Ando have any good reason to _believe_ him?

There on the platform, where the air was worse than in his office, Ando caught a glimpse of what Hiro was getting at. It was all stories, wasn't it? To think like Hiro, you had to think _in_ stories. The next train thundered by, rattling Ando's thoughts into the clearest of discords.

Hades. Eurydice. _I'm Orpheus_.

It was no more about the mythology that Hiro had altered than it was about saving the cheerleader—not anymore. They were living a legend, and, until that moment, Ando had failed to realize which one.

 

* * *

 

The first thing that Hiro did, upon arriving inside his locked apartment, was make _sure_ it was locked. However much he _wanted_ to see Ando, keeping Ando out was of the utmost importance. Curses were hardly things to be toyed with; hadn't he learned that in the instant he'd caught Sylar about to raze off the top of Ando's head, let alone in the instant he'd seen Charlie's first fate? Hiro stumbled out of his shoes, staring at the plain wooden floor. What was beneath his feet, he wondered, besides many more stories of residences and, beneath those, the man-made hell in which he'd left Ando alone?

Recognition hit him like sickness, foul poison in the pit of his stomach. He'd done it _again_ , and this time to a man who didn't deserve it.

Hiro extended one hand and touched the door, tracing the same _kanji_ he'd so lately washed from unforgiving stone. What was expected of him now? What was possibly left for him to do, all obligations sealed, no curses left to lift except his own?

As he drew his hand away, the knock came. Whatever ghost he'd summoned, he'd let in.

 

 

* * *

 

Ando hadn't been expecting the door to open so quickly. In fact, he hadn't expected it to open at all. Hiro stood before him, shoes off, his glazed eyes backlit by some strange fire. Ando wondered if his impulse to stay was truly stronger than his impulse to turn and run, lest his cowardly hanging-on lose him his friend for good. Be that as it may, he knew that his part in this mystery play didn't call for him to flee.

"What is your purpose with me, spirit?" asked Hiro, his voice unsteady, but as toneless as it had been earlier. "Enter, _jikininki-sama_. I will accept this punishment."

For a few seconds, Ando couldn't make enough sense of Hiro's words to do anything except make sure he closed the door behind him and removed his own shoes. Hiro gave a slight, respectful bow, waiting until he had finished. Ando stood up, rubbing his hands together. If he couldn't think quickly enough to understand why Hiro was switching mythological modes on him yet again, he'd surely fail. _Jikininki-sama_. Wasn't _jikininki_ a kind of hungry ghost, the kind his grandmother used to tell him about when he asked for scary bedtime stories? Supposedly, they returned to feed on human flesh. What was Hiro playing at? Did it have to do with what he'd done to the man who killed Kaito, or did it have to do with _them_? If, perhaps, just _if_...

"Hiro- _san_ ," Ando began, biting back his fear, "there's no need to punish you for what you've done. I'm here to tell you that. Are you listening to me?"

With grave restraint, Hiro nodded. His lower lip trembled, as if he wanted nothing more than to speak.

"Good," Ando continued, hoping he'd be able to keep up the pretense just until the point where it intersected with reality. Where that was, he hoped Hiro would somehow let him know. "Hiro- _san_ , it's time for you to stop running. I've been— _we've_ been—displeased."

Hiro fell in a bow so low it brought him to his knees, barely catching himself in time. One hand fell on the wooden floor, and the other on Ando's left foot. Hiro jerked it away quickly, as if he'd been burned.

 _He's still afraid to touch me_ , Ando thought. _He was afraid to touch me even when I wasn't a ghost on his doorstep, so he understands, on some level, that I'm really standing here. That it's me, Ando, and not some ghost or hero come to rescue him. No, not this time._

"Forgive me, spirit," gasped Hiro, visibly trembling now. "Forgive me for what I've done to them."

 _To them? To Charlie, to Sylar, to Yaeko, to Kensei, to me?_ Ando knelt slowly and carefully, placing his hands on Hiro's shoulders. It was probably a terrible mistake, sufficient to break the necessary illusion, but it seemed as if this was as far as Hiro was capable of carrying the narrative. He'd have to write the ending himself, fragment by ragged fragment.

"Stop this, Hiro- _kun_ ," Ando whispered, giving in. "Come back to me."

Hiro looked up, sharply, glancing from side to side, as if registering Ando's hands on his shoulders for the first time. He looked dangerously confused, but the mad light in his eyes had faded to their everyday brightness. He blinked at Ando a few times, as if startled by the tears in his eyes, in _both_ their eyes, and exhaled sharply. Was this the gate out of hell, then, the treacherous path back to sunlight?

"I never left you," said Hiro, his voice breaking. "Never when I _wanted_ to leave you."

"Did you ever?" Ando asked, tightening his grip, refusing to let go. "I have to know."

"Only when I knew you'd be safer left behind." Hiro's expression was hardening again, so Ando shook him.

" _This_ ," Ando insisited, "is what I'm talking about. _Not_ when you disappear in front of me. That, I can cope with. This new vanishing act, on the other hand? It's got to go before _you_ do for good. You cast me as the ghost, Hiro, but that was a mistake. It's _you_."

"Yes, and it's my curse, too," Hiro said, defiantly lifting his chin. "Not yours."

 _All that's yours, I'd have,_ Ando thought, and came undone.

He waited for Hiro to withdraw, for the floor to rise up and meet him before crumbling away for good, but it didn't happen. Hiro's shoulder was as warm and solid as he remembered it, and Hiro's arms felt the same as they'd always done wrapped tightly around his waist. How could they have lost this, he wondered, something as simple and cherished as an embrace? Had it left with all the light, only to return when Hiro finally chose to let it? Were they in yet _another_ story now, one where a stone must be moved for a god to rise from the dead?

"I did what had to be done," Hiro murmured, his fingers traveling as if of their own accord up Ando's spine. "It was a terrible thing, and I couldn't avoid it. Do you understand?"

"Hiro," Ando managed, almost wanting to laugh, "I know you've run a man through with a sword. I'd forgive you _anything_."

"Even closing a part of myself away in the dark for eternity?"

Ando frowned, lifting his head from Hiro's shoulder. "I don't understand."

Slowly and deliberately, Hiro closed his eyes. Whether it was to envision some other unspoken secret or to avoid meeting his gaze, Ando couldn't be sure. He shook Hiro again, more gently this time, and the words, curling as tightly in Hiro's throat as Hiro's hands in Ando's hair, tumbled free: " _I buried him alive_."

Ando was startled, but he was shocked by the force of his relief. "Then he'll soon be dead."

"No," said Hiro. "Do you remember—"

"You said he could heal from any wound," Ando insisted, resisting the urge to shake Hiro some more. "What good would wounding him have done?"

"It would have added insult, I suppose," Hiro sighed, apparently struggling with a different kind of relief. "You...don't seem to understand, not even when I've been just as cruel to you?"

"Have you?" Ando asked, tugging Hiro to his feet. If he didn't reinstate reality _now_ , Hiro was going to find some way to drag them back across the line. "I can't recall, seeing as I've forgiven you. Is there any tea in the house?"

Hiro stayed put and stared at the floor, hardly moving as Ando strode decisively into the kitchenette. "I'm out," he said, finally, and a quick sweep of the cupboards suggested this was true.

Ando sighed and went back to him, gathering his reslove. Enough of this nonsense. He'd _get_ them some tea, and order in food, too—anything to drive off the all-pervasive _longing_ that seemed to pulse in the air around them. Had he felt it that morning in his office, or had he been too upset to notice?

"You," he told Hiro, setting his hands back on Hiro's shoulders, "are going to sit down and play video games until I get back. Or sleep. I don't care what you do, but you had better be on that couch when I return."

Hiro's eyes flickered again, but the emotion was at least recognizable as panic.

"Stay with me, at least," he whispered, his lips so close to Ando's that they brushed.

 

 

* * *

 

Hiro let the fatigue drift from his bones and into the warm flesh pressed against his own. Had he seen this, truly, as a thing to be avoided? If he'd honestly believed that making love, finally breaking down and admitting he was human, would seal the curse for good? Then he was a fool, and rightly so. It was Ando's curse not because he'd chosen to love Ando, but because Ando had chosen to love _him_.

Nonetheless, Ando looked peaceful in his sleep. Hiro shifted nearer on the pillow that they shared, until their foreheads touched. This held nothing of the nightmares that he'd feared, no threat of sharing some enclosed space against his will for even a split second of eternity.

Their story, in the end, was quite different. They weren't ghosts, not any of them, and it was far from over.


End file.
